The Sword of Jargus
by Lord Mordechai
Summary: In times of restless peace, it's hard to find solace in any one place. We join three individuals as they embark on a mission to find that which was lost centuries ago. Based on a Swedish pen-and-paper RPG world. Rate and review! Work in progress.


_In times of restless peace, it's difficult to find solace in any one place. Stealing, pillaging and even murder isn't rare to find on the daily agenda. Even assassination rears its ugly head now and then. Our story begins during the summer festivities of the Asharian Peninsula. To be more specific, in the port town of Camard - famous for their midsummer festival and the tradesmen that come in from overseas at this time of year. We join three individuals as they wander through the world the scholars have named 'Mundana'. Mundana is an ancient world where knights and magi are common and strange creatures of unknown origin is not rare when you venture into the uncharted wastelands of the north and south. The countess and knight, Sekara Preon. The elven magi, Lunerian Novadinaé and his companion, Maagrim. This is the first part of a longer story that I hope will culminate into a wondrous adventure including our three new friends._

**Prologue: A night in Camard.**

The evening was fast approaching and the smell in the wind warned that it would be a rainy night, but that did not stop people from Camard to go out and enjoy themselves. On the contrary. The port was by far the area that had the highest volume.

Troubadours played along roads and at inns in an attempt to drown eachother's voices with their own; jesters and acrobats performed in the teeming streets and got plenty of attention; scantily clad women sold pleasures for simple silver coins.

Wearing a fur coat, and arms folded across her chest, she pushed through the crowds. After a few minutes that she spent quietly muttering to herself, she finally reached the quieter neighborhoods, and the tavern with the best wine in Camard.

She looked up and saw the sign and the characteristic lamp. It was a wooden, white-painted raven which held in its feet the lamp itself. It swung in a puff of wind and almost went out. She smiled and shook her head, pulled her hood down and went inside.

"Your Grace! Such a surprise!" A voice was heard after she closed the door behind her. "If I knew you would come, I would have prepared myself," Duncan excused himself when he went over to say hello. She reached out with her hand and grabbed Duncan's wrist in a warrior's handshake.

"Don't worry, my friend. You know what I think of nobility." Duncan laughed lightly. "Well of course I do." He lowered his voice slightly and continued. "The youngsters haven't dared to come back."

Both laughed at the memory of the situation. The red-eyed countess had fought against three young noblemen. After a short fight, they fled like frightened dogs with their tails between their legs.

"I didn't come here just for the company, Duncan" she said and gave a wry smile.

"Of course not! The best wine in Camard comes from The White Raven!" he uttered proudly, patting himself on the chest. "The usual?" She nodded and Duncan disappeared into the kitchen.

"A bottle of our in-house wine, a glass of water and tonight's special for her grace, Sekara Preon!" Duncan commanded as he entered the kitchen. An assistant looked up.

"Is she here?" He asked. "Is she as beautiful as rumor says?" A silly smile spread across his lips. Duncan sighed, walked up to him and smacked him over the back of the head before he began to help with the food.

_Meanwhile, in the shadier part of Camard. Home of brigands, drunk sailors and society's outcasts..._

Darkness was no doubt the dominant factor at The Anvil this evening. Sighing deeply, a white-haired man took a large sip from his glass of what looked like Cimani wine.

The fear of him due to his appearance was something shared by all patrons attending the festivities this summer. Silent whispers and murmurs swirling around the room caused a small smile on the man's face.

A single, rough-mannered man approached him, slamming his pint of ale into the bar counter. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, "yer not from 'round 'ere, are ya, lad?"

Breathlessly, and with growing anticipation, they watched the sailor's encounter with whom they've nicknamed 'The Serpent'. He wore a dark coat, easily reaching his feet when he stands up. On its back was intricate embroidery of a venomous snake weaving its way through a sword of elvish making. Beneath it, he wore mostly dark clothes, so it was his coat that drew the extra attention.

The sailor straightened up, letting out a loud belch as he pounded himself on the chest with one closed fist. What he didn't expect was the other man's reaction. White hair made into a spiky fashion with a single braid going from his temple and down to a bit below his chin in length, with a bead at the end.

The man opened his eyes, azure in color, slit pupils like a feline, and looked at the sailor whom immediately staggered backwards with a gurgling gasp. "It-... It's you!" he screamed, pointing at the other with a thick finger. He now had their full attention.

"So what if I am?" he asked calmly, his voice young, yet wise. He looked around himself, bringing out a collective gasp from the patrons. Hearing this, he turned in his chair so that he had his back against the bar. A wide grin spread across his lips.

This brought out another gasp from people close enough to notice his fangs. At this he burst into laughter, causing the previously courageous sailor to not only spill his ale, but trip on a bar stool and fall to the ground with a loud crash, bringing a table with him.

Having the group's collective and unquestionable attention now, he stood up and brushed imaginary dust off of his clothes. He dug his hand into one of his coat's inner pockets, looking at the sailor, "Pleasure to meet you." He smirked, turned to the barkeep and handed him a couple of silver coins for the wine whom nodded in return. "I'll see you next week, old man."

With a wave of his hand, he left The Anvil and disappeared into the darkness of the city.

Inside the tavern, a woman mustered the courage to approach the barkeep and ask, "Who is that man?"

The barkeep just shook his head and chuckled, "That, madam, is Lunerian Novadinaé sholi Vashïr. A damned hero in my books, I say." The elderly man nodded as to emphasis his statement before getting a thoughtful look, wondering if he pronounced it right.


End file.
